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She's Got the Touch!
Autobot City - Repair Bay This is the main repair bay for the Autobots. Several operating tables lie in a row here, and a long bench lines one wall. On the bench are assorted tools used in repairing damaged Transformers. Scattered throughout the room are various repair bots, awaiting the arrival of more wounded to repair. The room gives you the perception of being immaculately clean, not a tool out of place. On the left side of the operating arena are wide sliding doors that open into the recovery ward. Less frantic than the busy repair bay, it consists of two rows of immaculate beds on opposite walls for those needing peace and quiet to rest and recover from their repairs. The sounds of quiet conversations between medic and patient, or between visitor and patient, are about all that disturb the quiet. So just as Repugnus had reported, Blurr currently has the medics stumped. Despite having only taken minimal damage from the encounter on Pluto, he doesn't appear to be lucid at all. In fact, Remedy had been forced to paralyze him temporarily so that Sit-Com and Grapple could wrestle him to a berth and clamp him down--he'd drawn his weapons on his own friends! The medics have practically used up the entirety of their supply of sedatives on him over the past few solar cycles in an attempt to keep him anesthetized most of the time. It's really the best they can do until First Aid or Torque, or someone more experienced could try to figure out exactly what was wrong with him. The minibot Tailgate, for the umpteenth time today, enters the med bay. He's been in and out of said room all day, to see if Blurr's condition has gotten any better. However, it doesn't look like Blurr is getting any better. Not only that, but the minibot hasn't recharged in cycles--not since he's returned from Pluto. Optics wide, limpid and glazed over from lack of rest, he plods over to Blurr's berth. Gaze downcast, he stares at Blurr blankly for a moment. Then he reaches out and holds Blurr's hand silently, apparently unaware of anyone else's presence in the med bay. Heaving a sigh, he grabs a small stool and sits upon it. Consequenty, he opens his subspace compartment and pulls out several datapads. Looking down at them, he pauses, and glances up at Blurr, then back down at the datapads again. It's a tough pill to swallow, hearing your friend had a mental run in with some nasty alien worm and is now pretty much a raging psychopath ready to lash out at any given moment. She's read the reports, gone over scans, but even this one is a toughie for her. It doesn't help that neurology isn't exactly her strongest field. With another round of going over tests complete, Torque makes her way to check up once more on Blurr in hopes that there's at least the slightest change in his condition. "How is he? Any changes?" Not even a hello to any other medics present, though she does offer a nod of acknowledgement before going straight to the readouts beside the medical berth, checking over his vitals. Of course she can't help stealing a glance to the speedster now and again before attention wanders to Tailgate sitting himself down, glancing to the datapads and quirking a brow. "What're those, Tailgate?" Tailgate starts, suddenly dropping the datapads. Darn her, she's startled him. He doesn't want anyone to see what he's written...Scrambling and fumbling awkwardly to grab the datapads he's dropped, he quickly tries to stash them back into his subspace compartment, but not all of them make it back in. "E-eh..." He had no idea that she had entered the room, and now he's embarrassed, looking like a fool in front of the female medic! And she was kinda pretty to boot! "N-nothing," he stammers. "I'll g-get out of your way.." He starts to turn a little amber in humiliation. The medics present shake their heads, venting a sigh. "No..." one of them says dejectedly. "We were hoping you could fix that. You're more of an expert than we are." The readouts are just as useless as before. According to the numbers, he should but just fine. Yet...he wasn't. "The only thing we can fathom is that it's something deeper than the physical. Psychological trauma. Of course none of us know enough about brain modules to be of any use." "Nada, negatory," Sit-Com says, "Where's the Fairy Godmother when you need her?" He looks at Blurr's chart. "Not sure why this hasn't worn off like with Grapple," he says. Torque's antennas flick upright in surprise when Tailgate's pads go clattering everywhere, the femme offering a sympathetic smile and leaving the unchanging vitals to help him pick them up. Now, she isn't the type to outright read them, but she can't help sneaking the barest of peeks before handing them back. "No no, it's okay. I think having a friend here will be good for whatever's wrong with him..." The gumby medics are sent an unsure glance after she stands back up, Torque chewing bottom lip in thought and observing Blurr at the bedside. "Of course you don't.. but then neither do I.." She grumbles softly, rubbing the back of her head. Why didn't they call the brainier techs? Were they all out in the field? "Hm.. Alright, let's see what we're dealing with. Wake him up. ..And make sure those restraints are secure." She's had yet to see him concious, so now's a good time to at least check him out. While the others get to work she busies herself by gathering a few tools upon the wheeled tray beside her. Sit-Com reaches into a compartment and pulls out a bottle of DayQuil, a can of Sprite, and a can of Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup. Oh no, now Tailgate's even more embarrassed. He sees her sneaking a small peek at the datapads he's dropped, and he becomes even more humiliated. His faceplates turn bright amber, and he fidgets nervously. "T-thanks," he mutters, staring at the ground. The datapads contain some pretty heartfelt words, even if Torque only just barely glanced at them. .... I remember the time you threatened to shoot me for trying to liberate that human's bike. I didn't think you were serious at first--and then I was shocked you would even do such a thing. But I wanted to say that I forgive you for that. And for the time after the training session when you made me feel worthless, like I didn't deserve to be an Autobot. I forgive you for everything... even if you don't feel like you did anything wrong.... I found a human proverb that I felt described our relationship... Siblings are the people we practice on, the people who teach us about fairness, and cooperation and kindness and caring-quite often the hard way. The medic in charge nods at Torque, though he arches a brow ridge at her for a moment. "You sure about this?" They might not know about the tender moments she and Blurr have shared, but she certainly cares about him, that much is evident from her behavior. "I know you heard about what happened, but--" he sighs, shaking his head. "...Well, never mind. Here goes." he disconnects the tubes feeding sedatives into Blurr's body. "We've gooooooooooooot to puuuuuuuuuuull the pluuuuuuuuuuuuug," Sit-Com starts to sing, a tune from something off Family Guy. True, they had their moments, and Blurr is avery good friend, but that's far from her mind at the moment, only concerned on figuring out just what's going on in that head of his and how they'll be able to fix it. The medic in charge is simply given a look, though of what exactly is unsure, before he disconnects the feed. "Good, now just stand back a moment.." She cautions everyone, taking penlight in hand and leaning in to rest hand over the mech's brow to keep him steady while shining the bright light against his optic glass to both center his attention and check out the insides. If anything she's the best one to be doing this given her strength. "Blurr, c'mon now wake up.. I know you're in there somewhere.." She mutters lowly to him, moving to check the other optic. Sit-Com looks at the items he's pulled out. "Oh wait," he says, slapping his forehead, "This is the Middle-Class White Way to Cure SARS." The minibot moves over to where Sit-Com is standing, his optics wide and quavering with anxiety. Tailgate clenches and unclenches his fists nervously, looking for all world like it was his life at stake and not Blurr's. Sit-Com looks over at Tailgate. "We'll figure it out. Something's got to give." It takes a few moments before the sedatives are cleared out of Blurr's systems, and once that has occurred, his optics begin to light up again. And almost immediately he tenses up, twisting in the restraints and attempting in vain to get out of them. A look of panicked terror is affixed upon his face. The other medics just shake their heads again. "Just like before...as I thought, his condition hasn't improved." A look of utter desolation and guilt descends upon Tailgate's faceplates. "...." He wasn't any better. Devastated, he turns to Sit-Com without saying word and hugs his torso (for that was about as high has he could reach), burying his faceplates into his chassis. Sit-Com awws and clings to Tailgate, patting his back and shoulder. "It's ok. We'll find out what's wrong with him and fix him," he says. The Junkion allows Tailgate to cling to him for as long as he feels is necessary. The moment Torque feels Blurr tense beneath her hand she's on him like lightning. The grip upon his forehead tightens and the hand holding the penlight drops it to press upon his chest, holding him down like some sort of frightened animal. He may need to be sedated again soon, which she indications by motioning to the head medic to stay on standby, but not before she tries her own hand at reaching out and getting through to him. Worth a shot. "Blurr! Blurr calm down, it's me, Torque!" She doesn't yell, but her tone is hard while leaning over him, making him look at her. "It's /okay/." She strains, looking to reassure him. "You're back at Metroplex, you're safe with us now, just relax." The other medics watch with anticipation, hoping that maybe Torque can get through to him. She does kind of have...a special touch. As for Blurr, he at first looks even more panicked when Torque pushes him down, his optics bright with fear. "Nonononononononononotagainpleasestopmakeitstopplease..." At least that's what it sounds like, over and over again. But then her optics lock with his, and he stops mumbling, gazing up at her for a moment. "T-torque?" he asks weakly, his voice barely above a whisper. Really now, is she the best or what? But far be it from Torque to gloat, she's not the type. When Blurr finally becomes lucid, for however long, the femme doesn't release her grip just yet, but doesn't increase the pressure either, just keeping him in place and looking down at him with that sunny smile she always sports. Of course this doesn't keep her from sighing softly in relief. "Welcome back." She says softly, "You've been quite the pain for the medics here since you got back. ...You feeling okay now?" She tentatively tests the waters with her question, but is all too ready to signal the head medic if need be. "You've had us all worried.." She nods her head to the two mechs off to the side, though smile faulters a little at her next question, "..What'd they do to you?" "IT'S A MIRACLE! PRAISE THE LAWD!" Sit-Com exclaims. This might have all been terribly premature, but hope suddenly swells within Tailgate's spark. He lets go of Sit-Com and quickly approaches the mediberth, his expression expectant and anticipative. "B-Blurr?" he asks, inching closer and making optic contact with Blurr. Blurr's servos relax slightly when he sees that smile. "I-I...th-they..." he begins, in response to her comments and questions. But then that panicked look returns when Tailgate approaches. "N-no...." And he squirms under Torque's grip, again attempting to twist free from the restraints as well as resuming the incomprehensible mumbling. Perhaps, since Tailgate had been present during the traumatic encounter, it reminded him of it? "How's his systems checking out?" Sit-Com asks Torque, "Is he coming out of it?" Tailgate withdraws quickly, his optics scrunching miserably. He looks crushed, Beaten down. Pounded into pulp. Like a combiner had roughly jerked his spark out and stamped on it several times. He steps backward, servos quaking in emotional agony. He stares at the floor, shaking his helm. "You--you have to fix him Torque. There's no alternative. Because.. because if you don't," he says, his voice suddenly crescendoing, "how will I ever forgive myself?! This.. th-this is all my fault!" He looks up at her in complete desperation, a single tear leaking from his wide, anguished optics. He suddenly realizes that he can't be around Blurr anymore, and he turns transforms, tires squealing as he races from the medbay, sparkbroken. "We'll fix him!" Sit-Com announces. "He'll be better than he was before! Stronger, faster, harder!" Is this it? Has he snapped out of it finally? Torque looks hopeful, eager to hear what he has to say, even opening her mouth to answer Sit-Com's question. ..But then it all crumbles, Blurr regresses and they're back to square one yet again. "Slag.." She curses, gritting her teeth and putting on the pressure once more to keep him from struggling too much. But she can't pin him down forever and hope he'll come around again, especially with Tailgate in her audial too, so instead she gives the nod to the head medic to put him back under for now. She'll have to try again later. When that's sorted she finally spares a moment to look Tailgate's way, frowning at the dejected little minibot, "Tailgate it's not your--." But her words are left hanging as he makes a break for it out the door. Poor guy. "Mmf.." Torque is feeling a bit more than strung out at this point, finally letting go once Blurr's under and keeping her bowing form up with a hand on the medbay, the other pinching between her optics. "Sit-Com... Could you go make sure Tailgate's okay? I'll try and talk to him later, but for now I'm gonna stay and watch Blurr for a bit." Sit-Com nods and flits off to Tailgate's side to console him! "That I can do," he says, "Take good care of Blurr." Perhaps Tailgate's feeling aren't misplaced--it is rather sad, though he's the only one who is convinced it's his own fault. The other medics administer the sedatives, once again reconnecting the tubes to a panicked Blurr, who only relaxes when the anesthetics have taken full effect. The head medic does a few more scans, looking over his body, then shakes his head sadly. "The restraints are getting close to cutting through the outer circuitry in his wrists and ankles--and we're running out of sedatives. He's going to writhe out of his own limbs at the rate this is going."